


A Wolf

by HaleyElizabeth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleyElizabeth/pseuds/HaleyElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Derek owns a local gay nightclub, and Stiles is beginning to question is sexuality. Or, alternatively, the story of how I lost control of my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wolf

If being gay meant that you were into things like glitter and strobe lights and walking around shirtless all the time, Stiles was pretty sure he was not gay. Who the Hell even decided those were the prerequisites to liking dick anyway? Was their some gay council? Some higher up authority on all things homosexual, dictating that the only way to keep your queer badge was to look like some kind of Kesha wannabe? The whole thing made him a little uncomfortable, like he didn’t belong here (at all) in his red hoodie and jeans.

Then again, if being gay meant that you got hard when you thought about taking it up the ass, well, okay, he was probably gay.

He had expected something else from the club, though he didn’t really know what. Like maybe it’d be people a lot more like him. Nervous and stuttering and plastered to the bar with a drink in his hands, eyes blown wide as he just stared at the gyrating bodies. But no one here looked nervous. From the assortment of drag queens sharing cocktails to his left, the shirtless waiters flirting to his right, and the sea of bodies covered in glitter and confetti surrounding him, it looked like he was the only person in the whole entire bar who was having a case of the nerves.

But maybe that made sense. For a few reasons.

After all, he was here ILLEGALLY. He’d had his own fake ID for a while now, ever since he decided that paying people to get him beer was too risky, and Scott was way too much of a puppy dog to allow them to steal. It looked real enough, and he hadn’t been caught yet, but there was always that chance that tonight would be the night. And did he really want to get drug down to the police station and have them explain to his dad that he’d been caught at a gay bar?

No, he thought not.

Not that his dad would have a problem with the gay thing. At least, not that Stiles thought. Maybe. Okay, his dad would probably have a problem with the gay thing, but not in the blatant “NO SON OF MINE LIKES DICK” way, just in the subtle “wow another thing to throw on the pile” kind of way, and that was almost worse.

But even if he didn’t have a problem with the gay thing, he would definitely have a problem with the “fake ID” and “bar” thing, and Stiles had just gotten his Jeep back from the last time that he got caught doing something stupid.

Which brings us back to the point that his nervousness was totally warranted.

He was beginning to question why he was here in the first place. He’d never actually been with a dude- okay, he hadn’t been with a girl either, but the point still stood- and even if he was into guys, there had to be an alternative way to figure this shit out. Or maybe he wasn’t even into guys! So what if the first time he’d tried fingering himself he’d come harder than he ever had before? Straight men could totally be cool with taking it up the ass, right? So, there was really no reason for him to be here. He was straight. He was totally, completely, one hundred and ninety five percent heterosexual.

Satisfied with his epiphany and the knowledge that he was, without a doubt, into women, Stiles finished off his drink and squared his shoulders, preparing to leave this place and walk home.

“You look like you’re about to piss yourself.”

Stiles jumped at the sound of the gravelly voice far too close to his ear and turned his head to the side, giving the man a nervous smile. Black hair that was styled to look intentionally messy, bright blue eyes that raked over him and sent goosebumps wherever they went. He seemed to have lost his shirt somewhere in the crowd, tanned, bulging muscles do all sorts of things to Stiles’ head that they shouldn’t have done.

Okay. So maybe he was gay. Whatever.

“Let me guess. First time here?”

For what seemed like the first time in a long, long time, Stiles was actually stunned into silence, and could only nod his head, and lick his lips awkwardly. His mouth suddenly felt dry, like he needed another drink.

Somehow, the stranger seemed to guess at what he was thinking, and laughed, turning his bright eyes- crinkled along the edges, wow- towards the bartender. “Hey, can you get this kid a water?” Stiles barely had time to be annoyed about being called a kid (or denied more alcohol) before the full force of those big blue eyes was back on him. “Name’s Derek. You got a name?”

“Stiles.” He managed to answer without croaking, or his voice cracking, or something else embarrassing as Hell, and he took the water when the bartender handed it to him, drinking half of it down in one gulp. “Derek… Hale? THE Derek Hale?” As in, the owner of the bar. The most iconic wealthy gay dude (well, okay, one of the ONLY wealthy gay dudes) in Beacon Hills. When the male nodded, and grinned, Stiles shuffled nervously.

“That’d be me. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. Weird name.” But Stiles liked the way he said his name, and those goosebumps came back with a vengeance. “Now, tell me, Stiles… why do you look so terrified?”

“Ah.” He did the nervous shuffling thing again, looking around at the bar and coughing into his hand. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Derek nodded understandingly, and motioned for another water when Stiles finished the one that he had in front of him. “Understandable. How long have you been out?”

“Uh.”

“You are gay, aren’t you, Stiles?”

“Uh.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and did that grin again that crinkled the sides of his eyes, and Stiles was pretty sure he wasn’t ever going to remember how to actually make words go from his brain to his mouth. “Hey, it’s cool. No one’s under any orders to declare their sexuality. We’re all just here to have a good time.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, taking a sip of his second glass of water, before he cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t really know how to be gay. It’s like… when you’re straight, you’re just straight. You just like girls. You don’t have to put, you know, some kind of label on it. But like… when you look up gay dudes on the internet you get all kinds of labels. Butch and bear and cub and otter and… and something called a daddy, and…” He moaned pitifully, rubbing his hands over his eyes, and Derek laughed.

“Kid, you don’t have to put a label on anything, if you don’t want to.” Stiles stiffened in surprise when he felt a big hand come rest on the small of his back. “You are completely over thinking everything. Do you like the idea of being with a guy?”

Stiles shot him a formidable look, but nodded.

“And do you like the idea of being with a girl?”

He thought of Lydia Martin. How he’d idolized her, pined for her, totally convinced himself he was in love with her. But how thinking about her actually touching him, being near him in a sexual way, didn’t really do anything for him. Stiles slowly shook his head in the negative.

“Then you’re gay. That’s it. End of story. No stress.”

Stiles made a face again, sinking lower in chair, letting his thoughts take hold of him. Derek seemed to sense that he was over thinking things again, and rolled his eyes, grabbing his hand and tugging him off the bar stool. “Come on.” He said, before backing up into the crowd.

Stiles stared after him for a long moment. Shirtless, rolling his hips in tune with the music that shook the entire building, glitter throwing off light in his hair and along his chest, all the way down to his exposed pelvic bones, Derek Hale was like a vision. And when he reached up a hand to crook a finger, motioning for Stiles to come to him, he was ninety ninety percent positive that he was dreaming.

Still, he went where he was beckoned.

Derek’s hands fell onto Stiles’ hips and Stiles’ hands somehow found Derek’s shoulders. They fell into a comfortable rhythm. Push and pull, give and take. Somehow, the obnoxiousness of the club seemed a lot less so, when he was here, with him. At some point Stiles ended up turned around, his back to Derek’s chest, their hips rolling together and he whimpered, biting down hard on his lower lip. He cast a look over his shoulder.

For a moment, he really thought he saw the male’s eyes… glowing. Thought he saw something almost animal in his face, though the smoke and mirror of the nightclub. But the next moment it was gone, and it was just Derek Hale, just watching him as they danced.

When the song ended, Derek tugged on Stiles’ hand again, guiding him out the double doors in the front. He looked like he was about to say something before Stiles leaned up and crushed their lips together. Derek tasted like mint chocolate and wintergreen and God, it was a heady combination. The male hesitated before kissing him back, putting his hands on Stiles’ lower back and pulling them flush together.

Stiles was totally down for going farther, and maybe that was the alcohol he’d consumed earlier in the evening, or the fact that this was the first time a real, tangible person had taken notice of him, but it was all negated when Derek pulled back, holding him off, and shook his head. “I think I need to drive you home now, kid.”

Stiles frowned, licking his lip again thoughtfully, and shook his head. “Why? I thought… aren’t you having fun?”

Derek actually looked… nervous? Maybe not nervous, but hesitant, and he glanced to the side before he nodded. “Yeah, of course. But, ah. Stiles, I think we both know that you’re a little too young for me. And I think you’re a little drunk, on top of that. I really don’t wanna take adva- Hey, come on!”

But Stiles, red faced and annoyed, had already started stomping off down the street, feeling like a kicked, embarrassed little puppy. It didn’t take Derek long to catch up to him, wrapping a hand around his wrist. “Hey. Hey. I didn’t mean to condescend, okay? I’m sorry. Just let me drive you home. You ARE drunk, by the way. I don’t need you walking these streets at night.”

For a moment, Stiles just stood there, looking between Derek and the road in front of him, before he finally shrugged and nodded. All pride aside, he was likely to get himself into trouble if left to his own devices. And maybe with another fifteen minutes with Derek, and he could convince him that the age gap was unimportant.

Because, seriously, he needed to do something about the raging boner he was sporting. Pronto.

Three minutes later found Derek (fully clothed, now, in a black v-neck and leather jacket) driving his Camaro down Main Street, with a disgruntled looking Stiles in the passenger seat next to him.

“How did you know I wasn’t twenty-one? And more importantly, why didn’t you just kick me out when you saw me there, instead of dancing with me?”

Derek grinned again, a look Stiles was beginning to feel contempt for, rather than arousal (okay maybe he was feeling both) and shrugged his shoulders. “First of all, you don’t look twenty-one. At all. And, secondly, I don’t know. You looked like you were having some sort of existential crisis. I thought I was being helpful.”

“It’d be helpful if you sucked my dick.”

Derek laughed, a barking sound, and Stiles thought he was going to swerve off the road. “You… are really drunk, kid.”

Okay, maybe he was drunk.

But he was also gay.

So, you know. He’d learned something about himself tonight.

A few minutes later found them parked in front of Stiles’ house. (Later, Stiles would wonder if he had even told Derek where he lived.) Derek looked at him for a long moment before he reached across and put a hand on the back of his neck. “I’ll see you around, kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll see you around,Stiles.”

“Can I have your number? If I promise only to call you when I’m not drunk or sneaking into your gay bar?”

Derek seemed to consider something for a moment before he sighed, pulling a sharpie out of his console and scribbling ten digits down on the back of Stiles’ hand. “Get inside.”

Stiles sighed, opening the passenger side door. Before he headed away, though, he bent down and licked his lips again, giving Derek one last look. “One more thing. You know… you were talking about labels earlier. What are you? According to gay people, I mean.”

Derek did that grin again, and Stiles hissed in a breath. “I’m a wolf.”

(He wouldn’t find out until much, much later why that was so funny.)


End file.
